Bartered
by Hoodfabulous
Summary: A Southern gothic tale of woe and romance in 1933 rural Alabama. Inspired by my favorite book 'The Color Purple.' My AoE contest entry. Awards inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**There are racial terms that are considered offensive by many, and rightfully so. These are characterizations, and not a language this author condones outside of fiction.**

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**Awards:**

Judge's Choice - PlanetBlue, Runtagu, Dreamweaver94, Believeitornot

Judge's Choice Runner up - Spanglemaker9, arfalcon

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_When you cross the sweeping drama of romance with the macabre isolation of small town life—and then throw in a touch of Southern whimsy—you've cooked up a collection of American literature absolutely unique in time, place and sentiment. Southern gothic._

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_This story is dedicated to Joe and Sue,_

_my grandparents,_

_whose stories of a South long gone_

_will live in my heart, in my mind,_

_and through the tips of my fingers._

_Forever._

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**_Bartered_**

**_Chapter One_**

_Forks, Alabama_

_March 15th, 1933_

I love the rain.

I love the smell of it, how it's fresh an clean, earthy an pure. I love the way it arrives when you need it the most, the way it brangs life to the world, causin' the plants to sprout up, and mournful cows to quench their long-awaited thirst. I love how the mud sticks to my feet after a good shower; how it cools my bare soles on the days I work the fields without my old shoes.

Them old shoes put a hurtin' on my feet. They too small an pinch my heels, but I got 'em. I got them shoes, an that's better than some folks can say, 'cause some folks ain't got no shoes 'tall.

Thangs has been bad since the twenties with the drought, sickness, an all. Seems like we don't git 'nough rain 'round here. When it does rain, we consider it a blessin' from the good Lord. Seems like we don't git much of nothin' 'cept hard times an oppression.

I reckon it's the dreamin' of rain that wakes me up, that or the sound of the baby in Ma an Pa's room, mewin' like an old Tom cat. That baby's got pains twistin' an gnawin' at his gut, an I reckon he's hungry again. Hell, everyone's hungry now a-days.

In my dream the rain lightly pelts on the tin roof; a few raindrops slippin' through the holes an spatterin' on the wooden floor. I reckon the desire I have to hear the chorus of raindrops works on my bladder. I ease from the bed, dancin' an all 'fore draggin' the chamber pot from below where Alice an I rest.

Hikin' up my gown-tail I relieve myself, groanin' at the ecstasy of an empty bladder 'fore shovin' that ole pot back under the bed. Then I slip on my dress, the one that's still dirty from the field, 'cause I's too tired to rub it over Ma's washboard after workin' the ole mule all day.

I tiptoe from the room, slippin' through the breezeway an out the door. The porch squeaks as I walk across the wooden boards, whisperin' the sound of its life, the years of bare feet, crawlin' babies, an loungin' hound dogs.

After easin' across the pitiful fields, I slip through the backwoods as quiet as a church mouse, allowin' the moonlight to guide me through the hollers. The bullfrogs are a-croakin' an sangin' to one 'nother. Other strange noises fill the night air, noises I ain't never paid much attention to.

The woods don't scare me none. Pa always says they ain't nothin' lurkin' 'round durin' the night that ain't lurkin' 'round durin' the day. Besides, they's worse you should be afraid of. At least that what Pa always tells me when we pass on by the cemetery that's fillin' up with fresh graves, right fast.

'Fore my Mamaw left the earth to be with the good Lord, she told us stories 'bout haints; how she seen the ghost of her own grandmother when she was just a lil 'un. I've been scared of cemeteries ever since. Now a-days they fillin' up so quick that it makes my head spin.

The ground's over-worked, nothin' but poor soil, an ain't worth plowin' half the time, resultin' in not only us folks goin' hungry, but our cows an chickens goin' hungry, as well. An when a plant does sprang up, them bugs munch 'em away. Them bugs are eatin', an we's a-starvin'. When folks ain't starvin' to death, they be wastin' away from the consumption an malaria which is runnin' rampant in our small, Alabama town.

It's endin' up in one of them there graves that scares me so. I hear the baby cryin' at night, an I know he's starvin' to death. Hell, I reckon we's all starvin' to death. That's why I'm sneakin' through these woods right now on my way to the Cullen farm to steal me a fat chicken.

Hell, I'd even take a skinny 'un.

Now, I know stealin' ain't right. Every Lord's day, I sit under the old Oak tree, or in church, dependin' on how hot it is outside, an listen to the preacher man. He spreads the gospel, wipin' his brow with that old hanky that he keeps tucked in the front pocket of his overalls. He reads aloud from Romans, Mark, an Luke, an I feel right 'shamed of myself but not enough to hinder me none from what I'm 'bout to do.

I grit my teeth as I reach the tree line, my eyes dartin' over the Cullen property. It ain't fittin' fer folks like Old Man Cullen to be so high falutin' 'round here when the rest of us are starvin', our bellies eatin' out our backbones, but what do I know? Pa says I'm eighteen goin' on eight, an that I ain't got a lick of sense.

I reckon I'm goin' to hell when I die; at least I am if I keep stealin' these chickens from a dead man's home place. Old Man Cullen's been dead fer goin' on 'bout fourteen days now. He's probably rottin' in the family plot. I bet the worms an bugs an all done got full bellies right now, an I'm green at the gills 'cause I ain't had a full belly since Lord knows when. I don't recollect the last time I had a full belly. Maybe I ain't never had no full belly.

My skirt-tail's draggin' the earth, but I don't pay it no attention. Naw, I got that big ole hen on my mind an that's 'bout it. I can taste the juice as sink my teeth in the warm meat. Just the thought of it makes my mouth water.

My tongue darts out to wet my parched lips, an I wish I weren't so poor. I reckon I'm 'bout the skinniest gal in town, least that's what Ma says. If I keep stealin' these fat chickens, I'll be the fattest gal in town. Then maybe one of them boys in town will marry me if they see how healthy I am. My arms are too skinny, an my knees are knobby. If I gain a lil weight folks will start whisperin' 'bout me. They'll think I'm right smart an found some money somewhere.

"They'll think I'm livin' high on the hog," I giggle, clampin' my hand over my big ole, fool mouth.

My giggle echoes in the night, bouncin' off the trees an the side of the barn. I curse myself below my breath, stumblin' through the remains of a cotton field, 'cause I reckon I'm a might bit clumsy, least that's what Pa says. I ain't too clumsy, or I wouldn't be comin' home once a week with a fat chicken that I sneak into our chicken coop.

Pa never asks 'bout the chickens, an I wonder if he knows I'm sneakin' off at night stealin' 'em, or maybe he remembers how Mamaw talked 'bout when she was a kid, prayin' fer food an swearin' that it rained live fish one day. I wish it'd rain live fish one day 'round here. We's so poor that even the fishin' holes are empty. Them fish may be out of worms an bugs to eat. They just as poor as we are, I reckon.

I slip inside the coop, an the hens make a big ole ruckus when they see me. Pressin' my finger to my lips, I shush the old biddies, but they don't pay me no mind. They keep on a cluckin' an struttin' around an some of 'ems sittin' on their eggs. I'm wary of the ones sittin,' 'cause them's the ones that'll flog me the quickest, an I don't like no chicken pecks on my arms an legs. Then Ma will know I've been sneakin' out at night an stealin' them old biddies, an she'll tell Pa to use the strap on me.

My tail-end stings when I think 'bout that leather strap hangin' on the wall back home. That leather strap right smarts an I'll be damned if I git caught an let Pa whoop me with that piece o'leather tonight.

They's a big, ole, white hen stuttin' around, bobbin' an weavin'; an I git a big, ole grin on my face when I see them plump thighs. I crouch down, bendin' at the knees, an stalk forward. She's a cluckin' an carryin' on; runnin' around like a chicken with her head cut off, an I laugh at the thought 'cause that's what I aim to do, cut off her head an all.

She don't stand much of a chance after I jump on top of her. I am the town's best chicken snatcher, after all. I got her by her feet, an she's a flappin' them wings an carryin' on, makin' a big ole fuss. I hold her way-out from my body, so she don't peck me with that sharp beak, 'cause that smarts.

I clutch the chicken's feet in my one hand, an shut the coop door with the other. I'm thinkin' 'bout them feet, how chewy they are in my mouth once Ma git ahold of 'em an cooks 'em just right. I think 'bout deep fried, chicken skin, an my stomach is a-grumblin,' cause all I've had to eat lately is cornbread, molasses, an fatback, not that they's somethin' wrong with fatback, cause I love me some grease, 'specially when I sop it up with some good ole bread.

My mind's so busy conjurin' up thoughts of food that I don't realize my dress-tail's done snagged on an upturned root, not 'til I'm on my back starin' on up at the big ole moon, clutchin' a fat chicken out beside me. Groanin', I rise up from the ground an yank at my dress-tail, pullin' it from the root, an cursin' the ground below my breath.

I don't know why I'm a-cursin' it. Maybe fer bein' so fertile when the field on our farm ain't, an fer bein' so hard that my head feels like it's cracked in two. I'm so busy cursin' an spittin' an holdin' onto that chicken that I don't see the man 'til I'm turned 'round.

An ear-splittin' scream sounds through the night, an at first, I don't realize it's mine. The man cringes an I narrow my eyes at him; lurkin' out here in the middle of the night in an old cotton field wearin' nothin' but his drawers.

"Lord, have mercy," I holler, pointin' at the man's long johns. "You ain't got nothin' but your drawers on! What in tarnation are you doin' standin' in a cotton field in your drawers like an ole scarecrow?"

"What are you doing standing in my field holding one of my chickens?" he counters, lookin' right upset 'bout the whole ordeal.

"This ain't your field," I argue, 'cause Pa says that's what I do best. "This is Old Man Cullen's cotton field, an I reckon he's been dead fer goin' on two weeks now."

The tall feller steps forward an fer the first time I git a good glimpse of him under the pale moonlight. His hair's slicked back like he's been usin' pomade, an it's an odd color, even in the dark. It's darker than the sunset, an brighter than brownest soil.

"Lincoln wheat back!" I holler, pointin' at his head.

"Pardon?"

The kerosene lantern he's holdin' by his side casts dark shadows over his high cheek bones, makin' him look ghastly an gallant all at the same time.

"You hair's like a shiny, one-cent piece," I proclaim, grinnin' when he raises an eyebrow.

"You're an odd little girl," the man muses, one side of his lips drawin' up into a big ole grin.

"I ain't no lil girl, feller," I argue, tryin' to maintain the chicken that's still floppin' its wings around. "I'm eighteen-years old."

"Eighteen, huh?" the feller says, steppin' even closer, "Well, I'm twenty-six; older and wiser. You don't see me kidnapping innocent hens."

I take a step back 'cause you just don't never know a feller's intentions, 'specially one who's wanderin' out in the cotton fields at night wearin' nothin' but his drawers, an grinnin' like a possum. They ain't too much to grin 'bout these days, 'lessin' you got some fat chickens struttin' 'round, an maybe that's why the feller is so damn tickled.

"What's your name?" he questions, creepin' closer.

"What's yours?" I shoot back.

"Eddie," he smiles, an damn if he don't have the purdiest, whitest teeth. "Eddie Cullen."

"You kin to Old Man Cullen?"

I'm carryin' on casual conversation, backin' on up all the while. The feller is still edgin' forward, his smile falterin' slightly when I mention Old Man Cullen.

"He was my uncle," he replies, pausin' fer a bit as a look of trepidation crosses his handsome face.

"Where you from, feller?" I ask. "You've got a different sort of drawl 'bout you."

My voice sounds garbled an thick, while his sounds pure an fancy, remindin' me of Ma's glass bowls she keeps high on the shelf. Them bowls are purdy, an clear-green, just as clear an green as Mr. Cullen's eyes.

"Quit changing the subject," he responds, still smirkin' all big. "You were in the midst of stealing one of my best chickens. There has to be some sort of penalty that you must pay."

"Listen, mister," I tell him, waggin' my finger. "You can have your damned old chicken back. I wouldn't steal 'em if I knew someone was a-livin' here."

"I was thinking we could make some sort of trade," he offers with a shrug; that grin still on his face.

"What kind of trade?" I ask suspiciously, shakin' the damn chicken, 'cause she just won't shut up.

Mr. Cullen opens his mouth an begins to speak, but that hen is squawkin' so loud I can't think straight, let alone hear. I finally git enough of that old hen. I heave a heavy sigh, tuck the fightin' chicken under one arm, an wring its neck with my free hand. The chicken immediately becomes still, her lil feathered body goin' slack under my arm.

"Now, what was you sayin'?" I ask, droppin' the chicken on the ground beside me.

"Well, I, er, was willing to 'offer' a trade," he laughs, his eyes wide in amusement an surprise, "but now that you've murdered my prize hen in cold blood, I don't see any room for refusal on your part."

"What sort of a trade?"

"A chicken," he grins, pointin' to the dead bird then pointin' to his lips, "for a kiss."

"Ha!" I laugh, 'cause that's a damn funny thang to trade a chicken fer, plus no man's ever flat-out asked me fer a kiss. "You ain't gittin' no kiss from me!"

"But you took my poor chicken's life," he argues, dramatically clutchin' his chest with one hand, the flame from the lantern flickerin' in the other. "She never stood a chance."

This feller's funny, an I appreciate it, considerin' we's under hard times an all, but I don't know him from Adam, an I damn sure ain't fixin' to kiss him.

"Keep the chicken. I ain't kissin' you."

"I don't want the chicken. I want a kiss from your sassy, little mouth."

"Put the chicken in a pot. I don't know how to kiss."

"I'll teach you."

"No."

"Hmm. How about two chickens?"

Two chickens? Them words make me pause an rethank thangs fer a minute. One, tiny lil peck fer two chickens? How can I refuse?

"Alright, Cullen," I barter, leanin' back on my heels. "Two chickens fer one kiss, but it better be another fat, old biddy. I ain't kissin' you fer fun; that's fer sure."

"Deal," Mr. Cullen agrees, droppin' the lantern, the flame dancin' as it settles on the ground.

My Pa always says a true gentleman shakes hands to seal a deal. Mr. Cullen, bein' right fancy an all, offers his hand. I take his outstretched hand in mine, marvelin' slightly at the size of it, how large it is wrapped around mine, how long an elegant his slim fingers are. I don't marvel fer long, 'cause the next thang I know Mr. Cullen's pressin' me 'gainst his chest, tiltin' my chin back an all with one of them there purdy fingers.

I stare up at him with wide eyes, gazin' an gaspin' at this man. I ain't never been this close to a strange man 'fore, never been courted, an I sure ain't been properly kissed.

Mr. Cullen's body feels nice 'gainst mine. I find myself touchin' his chest like the Jezebel I've become. It's good an firm under my fingers, an I revel in the feelins' that I've never felt 'fore, the quiverin' in my belly, the strange tinglin' down further.

His eyes close, long thick lashes restin' over his cheeks as he bends down, an I close mine as well, gaspin' slightly when his warm lips brush 'gainst mine.

The breath comes out of my chest in a rush; mixed emotions floodin' my heart. The peck I imagined ain't no peck 'tall. No, siree, this feller presses those purdy lips right firmly 'gainst mine, an they start movin', those lips, an mine's a-movin' back. My hands slip from his chest as his slide around my waist, an I feel him all hard 'gainst my belly. It unsettles my stomach, the feelin' of this man, like a brush fire's been kindled in my soul.

My cheeks burn as he slips his tongue into my mouth, the feelin' new an unexpected, although not unwanted. No, it's not unwanted 'tall, these feelins' he's stirrin' up inside of me. I hope I'm doin' it right, slippin' my tongue in his mouth as well, lavishin' the arousal in the pit of my belly as our tongues meet one another. Our bated breaths are fillin' the air along with those toad frogs an crickets an all.

Mr. Cullen's kiss tastes like whiskey, an I don't want it to end but it does. I break the kiss first, scared he'll take the life right out of me directly, 'cause I ain't never felt this way 'fore. It ain't like me to be standin' under the big, ole fat moon kissin' some strange feller, my heart putterin' so loud I swear he can hear it. He looks down at me like he's witnessin' the sweet Lord's return to the dear earth, an it frightens me the way this man is uprootin' my long a-waitin' heart.

"You got your kiss, feller," I tell him, wipin' my mouth with the back of my hand. "Now git me my chicken."

The feller nods, pickin' up his lantern an crossin' the field. I foller him, leavin' the dead chicken where she lies, hopin' an old coyote don't snatch her up 'fer I git back.

Cullen disappears inside the coop an returns with 'nother fat hen. I grin at him, unable to hide the smile that stretches across my face, an he pauses, lookin' at me all funny again, makin' my smile waver as he hands me the yard-bird.

"You have sad eyes, but an astonishingly, beautiful smile."

My smile completely fades at his words; the voice soundin' far away an thoughtful an all. I know I'll dream 'bout that voice, an 'bout this man an how he felt pressed up 'gainst me in the moonlight. I shake my head an turn around, stumblin' across the field an snatchin' up the dead bird with my free hand.

"Where do you live, bird thief?" he questions, an he's right behind me, on my heels, as I'm quick scootin' down the rows of cotton.

"You need to cultivate this field here," I tell him, ignorin' his question. "Cotton shoulda been planted by now."

"The workers left," he explains, shufflin' up beside me as the tree line grows nearer. "After my uncle passed away they abandoned their stations. I'm assuming they thought there wouldn't be any further pay. I'm surprised nothing was stolen in their departure."

"We ain't all thieves down here," I grumble, 'cause I'm guilty of the sin myself an feelin' a might defensive on the subject.

"Just you, huh?" he asks, an the damn fool is grinnin' at me, his teeth all shiny an purdy.

"Listen, mister," I sigh, stoppin' my scootin' to look him in the eye. "I gave you a kiss like you asked fer. You gave me my chickens. I reckon we's through doin' business. Let's part ways cordially."

The feller looks downright chastised by my words, standin' there, still as the dead, callin' out fer my name, but I say nothin'. He can call me 'bird thief' fer all I care.

I take them two yard-birds with me, one dead as a doornail an one squawkin' an carryin' on. I step from the field an into the woods, wonderin' if I'll ever see the man ever again, an secretly hopin' to the good Lord that I do. I doubt I will though. Nothin' good stays around here fer long. Nothin' good 'tall.

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Reviews = fat chickens


	2. Chapter 2

**_Bartered_**

**_Chapter Two_**

I see Eddie Cullen again today.

The clouds hang over our heads in thick, rollin' waves, grey an dreary, full of rainwater an edged with thunder, but no chance of rain. No, no chance 'tall.

That's how it looks when I stare into Eddie's eyes, like a storm's 'bout to blow over an wipe us all away, takin' me an everythang else along with it. It's terrifyin' an exhileratin' all at once.

I sit in the back pew of the church with Pa an Ma on my right, an Alice on my left. Mama's got the baby just a-bouncin' him on her lap. Them front teeth's just comin' on in, an drool's just a rollin' down that lil chin. He's smilin' an kickin' them legs, an it makes me smile an want to kick my legs too, seein' him happy. I would kick my legs, if they weren't so blasted tired from all the walkin' I've been doin'.

My family an I, we've been walkin' everywhere. After the stock market crashed back in twenty-nine, thangs started steadily goin' downhill. What lil money we had saved up in the bank is now gone.

Pa says thousands of banks failed, an many of our friends, family, an neighbors are hit hard by the tough times, too. We's so broke we was forced to sell Pa's tractor an truck. Now we walk or take my Papaw's old buggy to town, an hitch up the old mule when we plow.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as I hear Eddie's voice. He's at the front of the church, standin' with the hymn-book in his hand, but he ain't got it open. No siree, he's sangin' from memory an doin' it well, too. I hear him clean over all the other voices inside the clapboard walls, them voices reverbratin' an echoin' in the early mornin' air, an it's purdy, his voice.

I watch him, all mornin', sangin' an prayin', his face occasionally hidden, as the ladies sittin' in front of me fan their faces; the fans an flowery hats obscurin' my view of him from time to time. If he knows I'm watchin' he shows no inclination of it.

No, his attention is focused on the preacher man, who's shoutin' an gesturin' with his hands, wipin' the beads of sweat from his brow with that old hanky. It's near the beginnin' of April, but damn it's hot. It's hot one day an cold the next, an Pa says it's twister weather. He must mean it too, 'cause Pa don't say nothin' he don't mean.

I skidaddle outside, once church services end. Standin' near the front door, shiftin' my weight from foot to foot, I'm caught in a bind with my affections. I'm half wishin' he'd come on out an see me standin' here, half wishin' he won't. Truth is, I'm scared of this man. I'm scared of the sinful ways I think 'bout him, 'bout the night I met him in that cotton field, pressin' himself 'gainst me. I'm scared of these feelins' I got deep inside, like I'm on the verge of dyin' every time I look at his shiny hair an green eyes. I'm scared he's gonna tell Pa 'bout catchin' me on his land.

Ma steps out of the church buildin', slippin' right on over to where Mrs. Henderson stands just a-waitin' on her. They ease into idle conversation 'fore the gossipin' begins; gabbin' 'bout who's cheatin' on who an why the sheriff came on down to the Lesley house last Wednesday. I sigh in discontent 'cause we just got out of church, an gossipin' is a sin, but so is lustin' after some strange man, so I'm not one to judge. When I hear the 'Cullen' name mentioned, my ears perk up.

"I heard he's Old Man Cullen's sister's child," Mrs. Henderson whispers, the black hat an big, fake flowers bobbin' on her head as she nods. "I heard he's college educated too, a journalist from Knoxville, Tennessee!"

"College educated?" Ma murmurs, proppin' the baby on her hip, an shootin' an uneasy look at the church door. "Reckon how long he's in town?"

"No one's fer certain," Mrs. Henderson gushes, her voice edged with excitement. "But rumor has it that he's decided to stay here fer a while, take over the farm an git it back on its feet. Maybe he'll stay here permanently."

"That'd be nice," Mamma muses, castin' me an Alice a sideways glance. "Maybe he'll find him a wife an settle down."

"Oh, he's already engaged," Mrs. Henderson interrupts, trepidation evident in her voice. "I hear she's a beauty, too."

"Is that so?" I speak up, startlin' the two old birds. Mama's hazel eyes look rightly abashed by my accusatory tone an disruptive manner. "He's gittin' hitched?"

"That's what I heard," Mrs. Henderson nods, that big ole hat just dancin' on her gray head. "He's engaged to a Hale gal."

My soul is wounded. I'm a hollered out log, full of ants an termites, or maybe a cotton boll covered in weevils, devoured an empty. I'm nothin' but a dried up stem left as evidence to the world that I did, at one point, exist.

Eddie steps out of that old church buildin' gazin' at me with a face as bright as the impendin' sun, peakin' out after day upon day of torrid, thunder clouds. Alls I want to do is hang my head an cry, fer I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of lettin' this man hurt me the way he has. I'm ashamed of fallin' fer a man I know nothin' 'bout.

I'm ashamed of allowin' myself to feel anything 'tall, just fer a chicken or two.

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Reviews = Eddie singin' the old-time hymns


	3. Chapter 3

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Three**_

"Quit follerin' me around like a dog in heat."

I'm walkin' home right quick, tryin' my best to make it there 'fore the rain sets in. It's been hangin' over our heads fer days, the rain clouds that is. The dirt road travels far ahead of me, windin' around hills an gullies, the red ground rugged with hoof prints, motorcar tracks, an wagon wheel ruts. The pines are bent an bowed over with a stiff breeze that billows through the holler.

Eddie's been follerin' me fer 'bout an hour. That's usually how long it takes me to walk from home to Dr. Gerandy's house an back again. I'd already be sittin' purdy at home if Eddie Cullen hadn't been hinderin' an pesterin' me so, strikin' up casual conversation that I pretend to ignore as I walk an he sits high up on that horse of his.

Eddie's follered me like this fer the past few weeks, sometimes in his fancy motorcar, sometimes on his black mare. He's been bumpin' into me at the dry goods store, the bank, or just takin' a stroll down the road. He's been chasin' me with dogged determination every chance he gits, but I turn up my nose with each advance, thankin' of that gal he's marryin'.

"Let me put those bottles in my saddlebag, Bella," he offers, interruptin' my thoughts.

The pleadin' tone comin' from his mouth causes my mouth to curl up in discomfort. I don't like the way I feel 'bout this man, 'specially since he's gittin' hitched an all, an I'd prefer fer him to treat me real mean, 'stead of bein' so damn nice. It'd sure make thangs easier on me, that's fer sure.

"I've been takin' care of myself fer goin' on eighteen years now, I reckon," I tell him, holdin' my head up high, breathin' in the smell of rain. "I sure don't need no help from you."

"Bella, I don't understand your hostility. Explain what's changed from the time I caught you stealing my chickens up until now."

"Ha! If you don't know, don't concern yourself with it."

He's gittin' mad. He's all bowed up on that big, black horse, frownin' an scowlin' down at me, an I like it. I like angerin' the feller, 'cause maybe if he gits mad enough he'll let me be, an thangs can go back to the way they once were, the way they were 'fore he came whirlin' into my life like a tornado.

I'm so busy bein' so high falutin' with my nose in the air that I don't notice the dip in the road until I'm fallin' towards God's green earth, the deep-hued glass bottles clutched tightly to my chest. My ankle twists beneath me an I cry out in pain, curled up on one side, my hand immediately makin' its way down my leg.

The pain is white-hot an blindin', causin' my eyes to blur up in tears. I hear him dismount the giant beast of an animal, his boots slidin' from the stirrups, the saddle squeakin' as he slings one leg over the horse. He's by my side in a heartbeat, his lithe fingers on my throbbin' ankle, pressin' down here an there, sighin' when I whimper in pain.

"You're hurt," he murmurs, but he sound like the one who's hurt. They's a disheartened tremor in his voice, as though my pain affects him as well, causin' me to glare up at him through my tears.

"I'm fine," I mumble, gatherin' up my bottles, an attemptin' to stand.

The pain becomes almost unbearable, an I grow weak, unable to stand, feelin' my leg give out beneath me. His arms wind 'round me as he holds me up, removin' my weight from one leg an guidin' me unwillingly to the mare.

I begrudgingly hand him the bottles, bearin' all my weight on my good leg as he slowly places the bottles inside his saddlebag, careful not to break them.

"Who's sick?"

"My Ma's got a dry cough," I hedge, avoidin' his lingerin' stare. "She's fine; just needs some good ole rest is all. She's stubborn as a mule. Won't listen to a thang I tell her."

"Sounds like someone else I know," he muses, givin' me a wink that sends my heart putterin' in my chest, an I want to crumble, crumble into him an never look back.

"You gonna help me up on this horse, or what?" I ask, swallowin' my yearnin' down with my pride as I avoid his smile.

It's hard mountin' a horse with one bad leg, 'specially when Eddie's hands are on my back-end, helpin' to hoist me up. My face burns an my cheeks grow red, 'specially when he starts laughin' at my expression, turnin' my embarrassment into anger, but it's short lived. When he slips his booted foot in one stirrup, an swangs the other over the back of the horse, I gasp, 'cause now he's sharin' a saddle with me, pressed up 'gainst my rear-end all snug.

"I spoke to your father today."

Them words brang a chill deep down in my bones. Pa don't much like strangers, an I can't imagine any conversation between him an Mr. Cullen bein' a pleasant one.

"What y'all talk 'bout?"

"I asked permission to court you."

My face grows cold, an my belly flips with those words. I find myself slack jawed an fumblin' fer words.

"What did Pa say?" I finally whisper, swallerin' the knot in my throat.

"Let's just say he's not too keen on the idea."

"My Pa's a good person," I hedge, strugglin' to grasp a good response. "But he's tired an mean. He's wary of folks that ain't from around here."

Eddie's body, pressed so closely to mine, grows stiff 'gainst my back. Glancin' down I notice those same arms wrapped around my waist, grippin' the horse's reins turnin' pale beneath his newfound sunburn.

"Mean?" he questions with a voice filled with trepidation.

"He can git mean as all git-out," I reply, them words slippin' on out like turpentine on my tongue. "You work at a newspaper. You ain't worked a field all your life. It's hard work, that, an raisin' a houseful of young 'uns."

"He just got him a job at the sawmill to help make ends meet. Our farm is small. Ma does all she can to help, but with the baby an all, she can't carry her load as well as my sister an I, so Alice an I work the field while Pa's at the sawmill.

"At the end of the day he comes home coughin' an sputterin', too exhausted from a hard day's work to do much else besides eat supper an fall asleep. I hate myself fer bein' so relieved an all, but I am, 'cause if he's too tired to hit a lick at home, he's too tired to hit a lick at us kids."

I tell Eddie all these thangs, explainin' to him how hard Pa hits when he swangs that old strap, takin' his aggression out on us young 'uns from time to time. It all comes out, the words tumblin' from my lips as I ramble on an on to this man, the first person I've ever discussed private thangs with.

Eddie remains quiet, silently listenin' as I gab, an I thank he's grown disgusted with me, an I tell him so. I tell him so, askin' if he hates me, wonderin' if he's finished bein' moon-eyed at me. Then I turn to gaze at him. He stares at my 'shamed eyes like he's seein' the stars fer the first time.

"I reckon you're tired of chasin' me now. I ain't sassy like you thought I was. I'm weak."

"I'll never grow tired of you, Bella;" he tells me, his voice sure an somber as he stares me directly in the eye. "I care deeply about you."

Ain't nobody ever told me they cared 'bout me. Not my Ma, Pa, or even my lil sister. Tough times create tough people, an affections ain't somethin' commonly discussed among us. I'm leery of his words, leery but eager to accept them.

'Stead of returnin' the compliment, I remain silent, mulin' them words over in my head. The horse walks slowly down the road, each step rockin' me back an forth 'gainst the saddle, back an ferth 'gainst Eddie. When he veers from the road to a trail in the thick brush I ask him just where he thanks he's a-takin' me.

"I need to wrap your ankle, bird thief," he explains, his breath nice an warm on my neck. "Then I'll take you home."

I nod my head, but I secretly hope he doesn't. As sinful as it is, I just wanna stay in that saddle, wrapped in them arms, pressed 'gainst his chest forever.

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Reviews = Bird Theif and Eddie forever


	4. Chapter 4

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Four**_

They's large Negro men workin' in the fields when we arrive. A rush of sympathy floods over me, 'cause them's the ones that's got it the worst, Negros. Once the stock market crashed an the Dust Bowl set in, all the coloreds 'round town lost their jobs, replaced by white folks.

"I don't recognize none of them colored folks."

"Most of them are from out of town," he explains, dismountin' the horse as he talks. "They can't find work anywhere else. Most of them are living in my barn."

"In your barn?"

"Yes," he responds, slidin' them hands to my waist an assistin' me down from the mare. "In my barn. They live too far from home to travel back and forth every day, so I suggested they take residence in my barn."

My body feels light in his arms, as he pulls me from that horse, my breasts skimmin' across the hard planes of his chest as I land on my good leg. Them arms stay on my waist as he helps me up the driveway, me hoppin' on one leg past his shiny, black motorcar an up the fancy steps leadin' to the Cullen mansion.

"I don't thank I can make it inside," I admit between clenched teeth, the pain increasin' with each jolt of my body.

"Sit here and I'll bring a wrap for your ankle," he replies, practically carryin' me the rest of the way to a large, white rockin' chair.

I rest in that rockin' chair, gazin' around at the Magnolia trees shadin' the yard along with ancient Oaks an tall Pines. When Eddie returns, it's not only with a wrap, but with a glass pitcher of water an two glasses.

Eddie pours me a glass of cool water, then takes my sore leg in his lap as I sip from the glass. Watchin' him remove my old shoe, threadbare sock, an runnin' his fingers lightly over my tender ankle makes me feel all balled up inside.

"You've got a big heart."

Eddie pauses, glancin' up at me in confusion, waitin' on me to elaborate.

"Lettin' them Negros work the fields an live in your barn. I reckon you've got the biggest heart in the whole world."

"That's where you're wrong, bird thief," he quietly argues, gracin' me with a sweet smile. "You're the owner of such a heart."

"Why you say that?" I ask, my eyebrows all knotted up.

"Well, you resorted to chicken thievery to prevent your family from starving, even though you look entirely ashamed of yourself every single Sunday morning at church."

"Your father beats you, yet you linger in his home. You provide the most labor inside the home and on the farm, because you love your family so much, including your wretched father. You would never leave your sister and the baby behind."

"Naw," I murmur, sadness floodin' my heart. "I don't reckon I will ever leave them behind."

Takin' the wrap in his hand, he slowly winds it around the top of my foot, guidin' it over my heel an then tightly around my swollen ankle. He secures it with a diaper pin, remindin' me of the lil 'un back home, which brangs a smile to my face.

Once he finishes bindin' my ankle; he rubs gentle circles above it, easin' his fingers up my bare calf as he carefully watches my face. I'm a-shiftin' in that rocker 'cause he's doin' them thangs to me down yonder, thangs I'm unfamiliar with.

"It's ungentlemanly of me to touch you," he sighs, lightly strokin' my calf.

"I like it when you touch me."

I admit this behind the glass I sip from, hidin' my face but not really hidin' it 'tall. My cheeks burn with a blush that can probably be seen ten miles away. Eddie smiles at my admission. His fingers dance further up my calf, pushin' my skirt to my thighs, playin' me like a fiddle. Then he stops strokin' an stokin' my fire, as his fingers abandonin' my leg, but not 'fore he bends an places a gentle kiss on my exposed knee.

"Let's get you home before I change my mind, bird thief."

"Change your mind 'bout what?"

"Keeping you here to myself. Forever."

I smile an set down my water glass. Then he helps me to my feet, the pain now somewhat more bearable. Once we git back on that mare, I feel that same old feelin' again. An I know it ain't nothin' but lust.

We've been ridin' that old mare fer awhile, headin' to my home place. Eddie explains that his motorcar is in need of some part that I ain't never heard of, but I don't reckon I know anythang 'bout motorcars to begin with.

Them magazines I see at the general store are always covered in photos of shiny, new motorcars, if they're not covered in pictures of them fancy girls. Them girls in the photos wear tight dresses an beaded headbands with plucked feathers stickin' out. It ain't nothin' but an illusion, 'cause I ain't never seen a gal such as that runnin' around my town, nary a day in my life. I bet Eddie has, bein' from a big, fancy town such as Knoxville.

We've been ridin' an talkin' so long that Eddie gits real quiet. His arms are growin' tired; at least that's what I think at first. Them long arms wrapped around my waist, holdin' them reins, grow heavy an fall. They eventually wind up on the curve of each of my hips. The weight of his arms pressin' 'gainst me causes me to fidgit around on that saddle, my hind-end wigglin' 'gainst him.

Eddie lets out a low groan behind me as I waller around. I feel him growin' hard 'gainst my backside, causin' my eyes to widen. Them able fingers of his drop the reins, the horse follerin' the path of the road on instinct alone.

Them fingers drift down my hips. From the corner of my eye, I watch as my pale, pink dress creeps up my leg, exposin' my bare flesh as his hand casually tugs it up. I close my eyes, breathin' it in, him an the feelins' he's causin', an I don't want it to end. I don't want it to stop, even though I should, 'cause this man is spoken fer, an I ain't no floozy.

"Bella."

My whispered name sounds pained, fallin' from his lips. I bask in it, the sound of yearnin' an hurtin' an needin'. I need it too. I need to feel hands other than mine skimmin' across my flesh, settin' my soul on fire. I need his hands.

"Don't stop."

My own voice betrays me, tellin' him what I want, what I need. Lips pressed to my neck is his response, that an those long fingers of his dippin' beneath the hem of my dress, strokin' my thighs an makin' me tremble. His tongue is hot, his lips soft, as he kisses the delicate curve of my neck 'fore cuppin' my sex with one hand. My step-ins grow wetter an wetter with each deft stroke over my cotton-covered flesh.

Mouth, lips, an nose skim the length of my neck. Eddie tugs my earlobe in his mouth; his tongue an teeth teasin' me so. I continue to rock 'gainst his fingers, a wonderfully peculiar twistin' sensation buildin' in the pit of my stomach.

Eddie's free hand cups one breast, causin' me to gasp an my face to burn even hotter. He gently massages my breast, flickin' his thumb lazily 'gainst my hardened nipple. Grindin' his pelvis 'gainst me, I cry out as his fingers finally delve inside my slip-ons.

"Lord, this is a sin," I moan, the rockin' of the saddle, the strokin' of his fingers … such a sweet torment.

"You can repent later."

I see Eddie every day after the day he touched me.

It's a promise he makes me keep, an I do well to keep it on my end. Sometimes he sneaks through the woods that separate our two homes. I reckon he's a lil scared of them woods. He always looks like he's seen a haint. I laugh an tease him 'bout it, offerin' sweet kisses to heal his troubled soul. He tells me he wants to marry me, wants me to bear his young 'uns. We kiss an touch on the bank of the dried creek bed beneath the stars, always takin' thangs a lil too far, until one night, he takes somethin' away from me that I can't never git back.

I don't regret what we did. Hell, I'm the one that offered it up to him in the first place, but it sure hurt like hell an didn't sound near as nice as when Ma an Pa do it. I can't help but hear them at night, huffin' an puffin' in the room across the breezeway. Alice just snores right on through it. I hide my head beneath a pillow to drown out the sound.

The second time we laid together was better. The third time made me tremble. But this last time, this last time made me see stars. Since then I've seen stars every time.

Bein' with Eddie Cullen drives the pain from my life: hunger pains, an the pain of Pa's belt when Alice an I don't git our work done by the end of the day. But they's one pain that lingers, an that's the memory of old Mrs. Henderson's words spoken in the church yard.

I'm livin' in a fantasy world, sleepin' with a man who's gittin' hitched, but I can't seem to make myself stop. I can't even brang myself to ask him 'bout the Hale girl he's marryin'. Just the thought of that gal makes my belly hurt an my chest tight.

Turns out I don't have to brang the Hale girl up 'tall.

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Reviews = Alabama heat


	5. Chapter 5

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Five**_

"Quit totin' Lil 'Un like he's a sack of taters."

Alice's dim eyes glare at me in response, but she pulls that baby up higher on her hip.

Ignorin' her stern stare, I approach the grocery store owner with my basket brimmin' full with Eddie Cullen's eggs. I've been sellin' an tradin' them thangs fer weeks now, an gittin' good money fer 'em too.

As I'm standin' an waitin' on old Ms. Cope to count my money out, I hear the distinct sound of the locomotive in the distance. Shiftin' my weight on each foot, I hurriedly snatch the money from her hands, anxious to see the train rollin' down the tracks.

"Why you like the train so much?"

It's the first words I've heard my lil sister utter in a long time. As we ease through the storefront I explain in a rush.

"I like thankin' 'bout that train, where it's been an where it's goin'. Sometimes I imagine what it feels like to ride on that old train an see the countryside, see how them city folks live in places like San Francisco an such. That's in California."

"Time's a-wastin'," my sister mutters as we clamber outside, "sittin' an thankin' 'bout trains. You ain't goin' nowhere. Neither am I."

I roll my eyes in response as giddiness overcomes me. Even Alice's sour disposition can't ruin my good mood.

The wheels on that locomotive roar across the tracks, the whistle just a-blowin'. Lil 'Un's done got squirrelly, an his bottom lip pokes out an his eyes well up with tears. I take him from Alice's feeble grip an whisper comfortin' words in his ear. His eyes grow wide as the train approaches, an the tears fade away. Them lil legs go to kickin' when the train starts screechin' as it approaches the nearby station. It slowly chugs an chugs until it comes to a standstill.

A familiar flash of shiny hair catches my attention from the corner of my eye. Eddie's strollin' out of the train station with a grin plastered across his face. He looks dapper in his freshly pressed, dress shirt, red suspenders, trousers, an hat. The smile he's wears ain't nothin' like I've seen 'fore. It's a different kinda smile than he wears when the two of us are together.

Instinct kicks in. I pull Alice with my one free hand behind Pa's buggy, peepin' at Eddie as he bounces on his heels, them long fingers shoved in his trousers. The locomotive releases an exhausted sigh, steam spewin' from above. Steps are placed in front of the passenger car door, opened by a smartly dressed, eager attendant. People gradually descend the steps.

Eddie's face brightens as he spots someone standin' at the carriage door. The smile he wears spreads ear to ear, splitin' his handsome face in half, white teeth peepin' out behind his pink lips.

My breath leaves my chest as a woman daintily steps from the train. I take her in as I stand there: powder blue satin shoes, billowin' blue dress, skin so pale it's alabaster 'gainst the rustic countryside, blonde curls piled on her head, the tendrils dancin' in the stiff, lazy breeze. An her red lips are brushin' 'gainst a newly burnished cheek.

Not only does my breath leave my chest, but my heart does, as well. Eddie returns the kiss, pressin' them same lips he kisses me with 'gainst her tender cheek in return.

Droppin' my gaze I cling tightly to Lil 'Un, rememberin' who I am an my station in life. Alice gives me a peculiar look as I square my shoulders an stand tall. We climb into the buggy, an I hand her the baby. Snappin' the reins, I feel his intense stare from the platform. Pa's horse trots down the dusty road, but I keep my gaze steadily ahead.

"You's right, Ali," I tell my sister, just as the baby begins to cry. "Ain't no sense in thankin'. I ain't never goin' nowhere. Nowhere but here."

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Reviews = a smile


	6. Chapter 6

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Six**_

Two Sundays in a row, I fake sick to avoid Eddie Cullen at church, an I ain't seen hide nor hair of him since that day at the train station.

I'm beginnin' to git a handle on why my Pa's so angry all the time, if his heart's as cold an dead as mine.

Every menial task I perform is done in anger: plowin' the pitiful fields, sloppin' the hogs, scrubbin' the laundry on the rub board. My hands are sore an blister-red from all the cleanin' an labor I've done, but I could wash a thousand dishes an his memory still wouldn't drift away.

I'm hurt.

I'm hurt from believin' a man like him would be sweet on a gal like me. I'm 'shamed of myself fer tellin' him thangs I ain't never told nobody 'fore. I'm disgusted with myself fer allowin' a feller who's engaged to touch me so intimately.

When I'm not hurtin', 'shamed, an angry; I'm detached, wanderin' around as lifeless as my sister.

When Pa finally asks what's wrong with me, I tell him the truth.

"I'm in love with Eddie Cullen."

Pa's quiet fer a moment, lettin' them words sink in. I spot Ma standin' nearby, hangin' clothes on the line. She heard what I said, but she's pretendin' not to. Sometimes in families it's best just to pretend some thangs ain't been said, nor did.

Pa only has to say one word, one word that trembles my bones an causes my shoulders to quake. It's a word Alice an I have heard constantly over the years, but we never once git immune to. The simple syllables evoke such great fear in us when we've done somethin' wrong.

"Woodshed."

I reckon fallin' in love is wrong in Pa's book.

I nod my head an walk silently across the yard, my hardened feet pad across equally hardened soil. Ma never looks my way as I pass her right on by. She starts coughin' up a fuss, blood splatterin' 'gainst the white bed sheet she's hangin' from the line.

The woodshed sits directly behind the house, the boards warped an faded over time. The tin roof's done rusted over into a woeful brown. I slip through the door an begin the same routine as I'd done many times 'fore, shamefully raisin' my dress above my hips, exposin' my white slip-ons.

The first blow with Pa's strap's always the worst. It's always shockin', even though the inevitable sting of it is embedded in my brain, an long-healed scars are visible on my flesh. Pa hits hard, too.

Relentlessly hard.

My skin burns with the crack of the strap, the leather takin' my hide with it as it leaves the soft flesh of my bottom. I wince, but make no other sound, forcin' my tears back. Pa never speaks when he whips us, not unless we sob. Pa says he didn't raise a bunch of pussies, even if we did raise a house full of split-tails.

He hits me over an over, his ragged breaths intertwinin' with the sound of leather slappin' 'gainst my skin. He works my bottom real good 'fore he starts in on my thighs.

A familiar ticklin' sensation trails down my legs an I know he's done cut me so deep I's bleedin'. I bite my lip till I taste my own blood, forcin' my thoughts out of that old woodshed filled with the scent of freshly, cut logs an pain.

I think 'bout lots of thangs as he beats me like a mule. I thank 'bout church an the good Lord, how He was crucified in such an evil manner. I thank 'bout the strength He showed while He was beaten an humiliated. I thank 'bout food, how hungry I always am, how hungry I am right now, how good Ma's biscuits taste after she pulls 'em out of the oven.

Then I thank 'bout Eddie.

I thank of his kind, green eyes, his teasin' smile, how he bartered with me over an ole biddy of a hen fer a kiss. I dwell in the memory of the day he follered me back from the doctor's house on that big, purdy mare, the way he touched me as the horse trotted down that old dirt road, an how wonderful he makes me feel when we make love.

I reckon I git so caught up in my thoughts of Eddie that I'm grinnin' like a possum. Through the blindin' pain I smile. That's when Pa gits real mad, kickin' me in my rear-end, an shovin' me to the ground.

Unprepared fer the fall, I cry out, my jaw slammin' into the packed, red earth below. He screams at me fer smilin', then accuses me of bein' sassy. Pa tells me I ain't never leavin' home fer some man, some man who's spoken fer, how he can't afford to lose a good farm hand.

My stomach heaves over an over, but nothin' comes up. They ain't nothin' to come up. My tears mix with the red dust, smearin' across my cheek as I press my face 'gainst the cruel, cruel ground.

Pa whips me harder, kickin' me, an even spittin' on me. I reckon that's all I remember after that, the pain an the words.

My vision leaves me.

I drift into darkness.

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Reviews = happiness.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Seven**_

I wake up the next mornin' to the sound of the Mockin' bird in that blasted old tree in the backyard. I hate that damn bird. Always told Pa I's gonna shoot it one day fer wakin' me up so early on the Lord's day, the one day I's blessed to git a spare hour of sleep 'fore church services.

That bird is just a tweetin' an the sun is spillin' into the woodshed from outside; the thin line of hot light fallin' across my face. I raise my head, wincin' from the stingin' on my rear-end an legs. My face feels funny. The tears an the dirt's caked on one cheek, the dried particles flakin' off my skin with each grimace.

Besides the bird, I hear male voices driftin' through the cracked door from outside. One voice is low an gruff, the other loud an insistent. My name is spilled a few times, an from the chorus of bass an treble, I realize the gruff voice belongs to Pa an the insistent one belongs to Eddie.

"I need to speak to her, even if just for one minute."

"She ain't here, boy," my father grunts.

"I've looked all over town. She's not at the pharmacy, the grocery store, nowhere. None of her friends have seen her. I know she's here."

"I'm gonna tell you now just like I told you this mornin'. She. Ain't. Here," Pa emphasizes.

They's a distinct sound of a scuffle: boots slidin' across dirt an grass; grunts an curse words, slammin' doors.

"Go in that house an I'll shoot you dead!"

I tell myself I should stay put an be quiet. The good Lord wants us all to mind our folks, but I can't find it in me to lie on that ground any longer, not when Eddie's life is at stake.

I try to call out, but my throat won't work, 'cept to swallow down dust. Nothin' but a croak comes out, soundin' like an old, toad frog. My legs won't work either. I git up as far as my knees, 'fore the pain takes me down; the sting an burn of the strap remindin' me of who I am, an how I'd gotten here. I fall from my knees to the red earth, then drag myself across the packed ground with my elbows … the one good part of my body that still seems to function.

I make it to the doorway an grasp the wooden handle, my ragged nails diggin' into the dry, cracked wood. Somehow I'm able to stand, although it's difficult.

The sun waftin' in assaults my body, an a newfound odor burns my nose. I ignore the smell of my own urine, my face burnin' hot. I stumble from the woodshed just as Eddie bursts through the front door of my home, pausin' an starin' at me from the porch.

"Eddie," I whimper, my voice findin' life.

Pa stands in the yard, trainin' his sawed-off shotgun on Eddie, but Eddie don't pay him no mind. Them long legs dart passed him across the yard, an he's by my side in a flash. I cringe an tremble when his hands touch me, the soreness runnin' bone-deep.

"I'm taking you with me. You're leaving here whether you like it or not."

I don't like bein' told what to do, but I ain't in no shape to argue. Eddie opens the door to his motorcar an prepares to assist me inside. As the door swangs open, the smell of daisies pours out. I brang my eyes up to meet the direct gaze of one Ms. Hale.

She's just as purdy as can be, with her blonde curls pinned to her head in gentle waves, an gaudy ear bobs dancin' from her ears. Them blue eyes widen as she takes me in, covered in dirt an bruises, smellin' like piss. I ain't believin' Eddie's forcin' me to sit next to this gal, who smells like a field full of wildflowers while I smell like a pig sty.

"You brought your fiancé to meet me," I crack, wincin' at the pain shootin' through my ribs with my bitter laugh.

"Fiancé?" they both ask, their voices drippin' with mutual confusion.

"Bella, this is Rosalie Hale," Eddie murmurs, frownin' when I narrow my eyes on him. "She's engaged to my cousin, Emmett. They just arrived from Knoxville to visit me."

I don't respond, but I feel a might bit guilty assumin' Eddie's been cheatin' on me an all. I feel guilty leavin' with him, too, since the beatin' wound up bein' my own fault. If I'd just took the time to ask him 'bout Ms. Hale I wouldn't be in this predicament. Pa wouldn't have beaten me, an I'd be workin' the fields right now 'stead of climbin' up in some fancy motorcar with a gun trained on me.

"You git on outta that car, Isabella," my Pa spits, cockin' the gun, the barrel trainin' back an forth between me an Eddie.

"No, sir. I ain't gonna do it."

"You really gonna leave Ma, Alice, an Lil 'Un here while you ride off into the sunset with Mr. Cullen?" Pa asks, laughin' a cynical laugh.

'Bout that time Alice bursts through the door an onto the porch. She's got the Lil 'Un in one arm, an a bag brimmin' full of clothes an diapers in the other. She skids to a stop once she spies Pa clutchin' our grandpa's gun.

"Git in that house, Mary Alice."

I holler at her to come to me as Eddie's steadily helpin' me inside the motorcar, but all she does is stare. She stares an backs across the porch, them thin lil bird legs stumblin' a bit, 'fore her pallid face an dark hair disappears inside.

"I can't leave my sister an the Lil 'Un," I whisper.

"You can," Eddie responds, hesitatin' 'fore he slams the door behind me. "And you will."

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Reviews = freedom


	8. Chapter 8

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Eight**_

Livin' with Eddie, Rose, an her fiance', Emmett, is like livin' in heaven.

Emmett's a farmer up in Tennessee, an a mighty smart one, too. He's been helpin' Eddie an the colored field hands, explainin' new techniques to 'em. His kind, blue eyes sparkle with happiness as he admits that he enjoys the area so much that he's thankin' 'bout stayin' here fer good. Em's got high hopes of helpin' the community git back on its feet with his farmin' skills an all.

Rose ain't as high fallutin' as she looks, an Emmett is just as kind-hearted as is Eddie. I reckon we've all become purdy good friends since I've been stayin' with Eddie, 'specially after Rose confessed that she was just a poor, country gal like me 'fore she met Emmett.

Rose has helped me a great deal since I moved in. It ain't been easy gittin' 'round with them strap wounds. Rose gits the fireplace good an hot fer me when it's time to soak in Eddie's big, cast-iron tub. Then she sprinkles dried flowers inside the warm water. She helps undress me, 'cause my legs an bottom's still sore. I soak in that tub 'till my fingers an toes are shrivelled an the water's done grown cold.

Eddie ain't got no electricity, which stuns me, him bein' fancy an all, but at least he's got indoor plumbin'. I reckon I done got greedy with my baths, takin' a bath every day 'stead of a Saturday bath like I had to do back home.

Eddie laughs when I tell him I's shocked he ain't got no electricity. Then he explains that the farm is too far from town to have electricity. That's fer the city folks, he tells me with a grin, but he reckons he heard the government was plannin' on hookin' power up to all the farmhouses purdy soon.

Hell to the government fer thankin' it's our fault this damn economy's so bad. They ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it. Can't grow a sprout without a drop of water or fertile soil. An damn if the grasshoppers ain't everywhere, chewin' all the vegetables up.

I'm thankin' 'bout them grasshoppers when I hear a knock on the bathroom door. I holler out fer Rose to come on in, but it ain't Rose who slips through the door.

"Eddie Cullen, you old dog, easin' in here eyeballin' me."

He grins an hands me a bath towel. I pull the drain from the bottom of the tub an don't pay him no mind. I just stand right on up, naked at the day I was born, enjoyin' the way his throat bobs an eyes glaze over. My back end is still a lil sore, but it's almost healed now.

I thank Eddie secretly likes rubbin' that cold salve all over my ass. I keep tellin' him they ain't no use in it anymore, that them wounds done long-healed, but he argues an says just a couple of more days. Don't he know he can touch me anytime he wants without an excuse?

My body tingles as I walk into his bedroom, the towel draped over the front of me, swangin' my hips with each step. I crawl on the couch, layin' on my belly, pressin' my head 'gainst a soft pillow as Eddie kneels by my side.

Eddie dips his fingers in the cool salve, then lightly begins massagin' my ass an inner thighs, runnin' them fingers in small circles with each deft swipe.

"Ain't no marks there," I cackle, takin' in a sharp breath as his fingers brush the wet, sensitive flesh between my legs.

"This cream makes your skin tingle, doesn't it?"

I nod, unable to speak as he rubs the salve over that swollen nub between my legs. I begin to squirm with each light stroke, moanin' an pushin' myself 'gainst him, as he gently massages it in slow, tantalizin' circles.

"Rose and Emmett will be gone for hours," he muses aloud, runnin' his fingers through my hair, an pullin' it over my shoulder.

Featherlight kisses flutter 'gainst my shoulder, then down my spine. He spreads my thighs further apart once his lips brush across my ass, an I feel myself growin' more an more desperate fer him to sink deeply inside me.

He obliges, pressin' two fingers inside my wet entrance, slowly pumpin' them in an out as I grind 'gainst his knuckle. They curl an search my silky flesh, findin' that hidden spot that Eddie found on the creek bank so long ago. The pads of his fingers swirl an press 'gainst the spot as he massages my lil nub with his thumb. I grip the stiff fabric of the couch between my fingers, usin' my knees to plunge desperately back an forth 'gainst his eager hand, whinin' as those fingers leave my body.

"Do you think you're too sore for more?"

I answer with a kiss, pullin' him to his feet an fiddlin' with the belt on his britches.

We ain't laid together since I came to live with him. My tail-end has been sore, but it's just 'bout healed now, an I'll be damned if I can wait a minute longer without him inside me.

Eddie's length is long an hard, drippin'; with the head swollen. I wrap my fingers around it, grinnin' up at him as he softly moans. Them eyes are dark, watchin' me pump an tease, swipin' my thumb over the tip. I brush my lips 'gainst the head, my tongue peekin' out to take a taste. Then I take him in my mouth, watchin' his drawn face as I suck an pump, grinnin' around him as he throws his head back an groans.

I let out a startled moan as he pulls me to my feet; my mouth an hands slippin' away from his length. Eddie easily throws me over one shoulder, tenderly rubbin' my ass. The next thang I know I'm on Eddie's bed, lookin' up at him with big, ole eyes.

"Knees," he grunts, strokin' himself an lickin' his lips.

I sit mute an all 'fore he turns me over an pulls my ass 'gainst him. He's grindin' himself between my feverish legs, coatin' his dick with my wetness. He dips the head in, then removes it, slowly stretchin' an teasin' me 'fore he completely enters without warnin'. The sudden movement shoves my head 'gainst the headboard, an I cry out, but it ain't from pain.

"Keep movin'," I ground out as he pauses.

They's a low chuckle that falls from his lips. Long fingers cinch each side of my waist as he forces me 'gainst him, spreadin' me deliciously wide with each stroke of his dick.

My ass slaps 'gainst him, makin' loud, wet smackin' sounds, my breasts bouncin' in his hands. Eddie pulls me flush 'gainst him, his sweaty chest rubbin' 'gainst my back as he plunges upward inside of me in desperate strokes.

Eddie's fingers find my breasts once more, squeezin', an then tuggin' my nipples, pinchin' them between his fingers, pluckin' them like strangs on a guitar. Then one hand dips between my legs, delicately strokin' that lil nub. That's when I clench an squeeze around his shaft, spillin' wetness all around him as his hand presses over my open mouth to muffle my scream.

"Don't want the field hands to think I'm murdering you in here," he chuckles, droppin' me back to my elbows.

Fingers sinkin' into my skin just above my hips, he plows into me in uneven, deep thrusts as I grip the bed sheets between my fingers. The tense muscles of his thighs work 'gainst the tender flesh of mine as he finds his release, comin' after three, unsteady strokes. The wetness drips from my body, tricklin' down my inner thighs as he slips from inside me.

The two of us collapse on the bed together, him pullin' me in his arms, an me wrinklin' my nose at the stickiness between my legs. He presses gentle kisses alongside my slender throat, askin' me fer the millionth time to marry him.

This time I say yes.

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Reviews = laughter


	9. Chapter 9

_**Bartered**_

_**Chapter Nine**_

"Git in that motorcar 'fore I git a switch an tan your hide."

I shoot him a stern glare, but Eddie just cackles at me as he tosses more suitcases in the motorcar. A knot settles deep in my belly as I watch them suitcases pile up. I'm nervous, nervous an excited 'bout the future.

Eddie an I are leavin' this place fer his home in Knoxville, Tennessee.

I'm nervous as hell to meet Eddie's folks, 'specially since we ain't hitched yet, but Rose an Emmett assure me that they're kind-hearted folks, an will eagerly accept me into their lives with open arms. I've been exchangin' letters with his mother, Esme, who's excited 'bout me an Eddie's upcomin' nuptials.

Eddie an I are to be married sometime this fall, in the mountains of Tennessee. Eddie's described them mountains, how they're covered with a veil of vibrant reds, yellows, an burnt orange hues, durin' the fall. He describes them so well that I feel as though I can see them every time I close my eyes.

Rose an Emmett stand on the porch just a-wavin'. They've decided to stay behind an tend to the family farm. Rose claims Emmett's found his callin', teachin' the area's farmers 'bout proper irrigation. Emmett's a smart feller, I tell Rose, an the town's lucky to have him.

I don't feel like I'm leavin' too much behind, 'cept fer Alice an Lil 'Un. I heard Ma died sometime back in the summer. Some folks say it was the consumption, others say it was malaria. I don't rightly know which is which. None of the times I went to visit her did Pa allow me inside the house.

I think 'bout Ma, Pa, Alice, an Lil 'Un as we putter on down the road. I know I'll miss 'em, Alice an Lil 'Un that is, but Alice made the decision to stay behind with Pa. She once said we ain't goin' nowhere, but I'm 'bout to prove her wrong.

I breathe in the scent of the gently slopin' hills, an the great Oaks, feelin' a might contrary fer a moment, as we pass on by my old home place.

I see a girl in the distance past my house, stooped over in the pitiful field, workin' the cotton bolls. A burlap pick sack is slung over one shoulder an across her back. She wears a fuzzy shawl, Ma's bonnet, an an old, faded dress. I holler out her name an she turns.

Cuppin' one hand over her eyes, she stares back at me as I wave wildly from inside the motorcar. She watches me fer a moment, just as a clap of thunder sounds in the distance.

My eyes dart to the sky, watchin' in awe as the thunderclouds roll in, thick an heavy with rain. Then the girl turns back to numbly starin' at the field of white gold, stained with her own blood, I'm sure.

I pause, my arm hangin' in mid-air as we slowly drive away.

Lightnin' streaks across the sky just as a strange November rain sets in. Water pours down the girl's face, meldin' with her blood, sweat, an tears. Her shoulders are slumped in accepted defeat, but it ain't me out in that field.

It ain't me.

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Reviews = a bittersweet ending.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you to my Mamaw and Papaw for your stories of outhouses, starvation, and piss-pots. Of not having shoes that properly fit and bloody toes, and of plowing the fields with the old mule starting at the age of eight. It makes me ashamed sometimes to look at my own kids, playing their video games and whatnot and then thinking of y'all so hungry and so poor. Makes me want to be a better mother. Your poverty, oppression, strength, and rising above the odds to be who you are today inspires me. I love y'all and will let you read the 'edited' (without the smut) version of this. My Papaw is 77, and my Mamaw's not much younger. They're amazing, amazing, amazing people. I am blessed.

Thank you to Alice Walker, the author of 'The Color Purple,' for creating a story that inspired this one-shot. Ms. Celie's dialect is somewhat different than Bartered Bella's, but the concept is still there.

Yes, the ending of 'Bartered' is bittersweet, but that's life. Sometimes our happily-ever-afters aren't completely happy ... not for everyone.

Thanks to everyone who was involved with running the Age of Edward contest. This was a nail-biting experience. I've never felt worthy enough to enter a contest such as this one, a contest I've viewed as the biggest Twilight fanfiction contest of all-time.

Thanks to those who pushed through and read this story. I imagine Bella as having a thick, backwoods accent, much like my own. It was easy writing this, but a bitch to edit, and hats off to SunflowerFran for beta'ing this hot mess of Southern goth.

Thanks to AliCat for pre-reading and telling me 'this may be the best thing you've ever written.' Compliments from Ali are few and far between, so I hug them to my chest and cherish them forever.

Thanks to luvtwilight4eva and Jonesn who listened to me bitch and moan about not wanting to enter because I thought I wasn't good enough to enter a contest like this. Thanks for the push, girlies.

Thanks to CaliGirlMon and Jonesn for the beautiful banners. Mon's is sort of a 'before' Bartered banner, and Ashley's is an 'after Bartered banner. They're both amazing.

And thanks to all who read and reviewed. I heart you all.

I hope y'all enjoyed this tale of love and woe in the South.

J. Hood


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